


Make My Rainy Day

by trademarkgiggle



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: ("Undertones"), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breeding, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Feminization, Impregnation, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Offscreen Consent, Panties, Sex Games, Size Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trademarkgiggle/pseuds/trademarkgiggle
Summary: Patrick and Jonny make out, make fun, make love, make time, and make a quarantine baby.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 34
Kudos: 339





	Make My Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thundersquall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/gifts).

> Consolation porn ft. ABO impregnation kink with feminization and dommy Jonny and Patrick in lingerie, here it is FINALLY. I'm not saying I coasted while writing this for samebrain reasons, but I am saying those prompts felt pretty intuitive!! <3 
> 
> Title from "Material Girl" by Madonna. This will probably not be the last time I mine a Madonna song for titles.
> 
> [Here's](https://i.etsystatic.com/5223170/r/il/7ffdee/1690979478/il_794xN.1690979478_fo5g.jpg) the obligatory visual aid. 
> 
> And just a general heads-up, there's a little bit of roughness and what might come across as Patrick and Jonny playing mind games with each other, but it really is just that - consensual play in the context of a long-term relationship. I think that comes through pretty well, especially by the end, but please let me know if not!

Patrick decides to announce that he wants a baby over breakfast.

"I want a baby," he announces.

Jonny keeps reading; he started a book about George Patton this morning—not because he likes wartime history, just because he has that whole "leader unto his men" thing to uphold. He's going to keep slogging through it even though he hates it. Meanwhile, Patrick has two new books on sports analytics and three years of Madden games, because one of them should at least try to enjoy being locked indoors indefinitely.

"You say that almost every time I fuck you, Peeks," Jonny says. He turns a page.

"You're into it," Patrick retorts. "And I mean it. I'm ready for a baby."

"I'm pretty sure you just want to ditch the condoms."

"That's not true," Patrick says.

"It's at least a little true."

"Okay, fine, it's a little true." He stretches his foot out under the table and prods Jonny's shin with his toes. "Hey. Hey. Hey, Jonny. Look at me."

Jonny keeps his eyes down, but he's clearly fighting a smile. "You just want me to come in you."

"Well, yeah," Patrick says. "Are you telling me you _don't_ want to come in me?"

"I didn't say that." God, he's infuriating; they'd probably have killed each other if they didn't have the home gym. Well, and the lake. And high sex drives. It also helps that they're each other's favorite people. Actually, so far the quarantine hasn't been too bad.

"Then what's the problem?"

Jonny turns another page. "There's no problem."

"Great," Patrick says. "So should I take off my pants and head back to the bedroom, or…?" 

He's joking, and successfully; Jonny (who isn't wearing pants but at least conceded to wear underwear) grins and finally shuts his book. He folds his arms on the breakfast table and says, "Okay, let's hear it."

Something about the shift from teasing to attentive makes Patrick flush. He's had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks, and he's seen all the jokes about how there will be a baby boom in nine months, but the idea's been rattling around in his head for far longer. It's not that they aren't playing like they used to—if anything, they're playing better—but the support isn't there, and even Kane and Toews can't drag an entire organization to the playoffs by themselves. He's just not sure how to explain that to Jonny, how to make Jonny understand that he isn't finished with hockey, but neither is he willing to keep sacrificing the other thing he wants so desperately when he's already climbed to the top of the mountain and seen what's on the other side.

"You know I won't… if you don't want to, right?" he checks. "I'll drop it if you don't want to talk about it."

"I absolutely want to talk about it, babe," Jonny says. "You've been thinking about it for a while, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. "I just, I want—can we go in another room?"

"Sure," Jonny says easily. "Living room okay?" He picks up his tea and Patrick's coffee and herds Patrick ino the other room. They settle down on the couch, and Patrick doesn't pretend that he's here for any other reason than to press himself against Jonny. Maybe it's an omega reaction; he isn't sure, but he's finally past the point of worrying about it. If it is, so what? Patrick is an omega, and he's tired of denying what he wants out of some misguided fear of a tarnished appearance. He wants his alpha, and he wants to play hockey, and he wants to shove how good at hockey in everyone's face. So what if he wants to get pregnant and be a scratch golfer? He can have both.

"So," Jonny says. "Baby. This is going to move our timeline up by a couple of years. Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. "Even with everything that's going on right now, I'm sick of waiting. And this season's as good as over anyway. I could be back by the end of next season, and we'd finally have…" He shrugs. "You know." 

"Yeah," Jonny says. "I want that."

"Me, too," Patrick says. 

Jonny leans forward and kisses him, first on the forehead and then on the eyelids and then on the mouth. Not deep or rough; he keeps it light and brief and leaves Patrick wanting more.

Patrick clears his throat. "Good talk," he says.

"Go team," Jonny agrees.

"So, uh. Is it time for me to take my pants off?" Patrick prompts.

Jonny smirks. "No, baby," he says, and he settles back against the couch and flips on the TV; and that's when Patrick knows he's in trouble.

-

He figures he's in for at least a couple of days of playing games before Jonny breaks. Historically speaking, Jonny's self-control is pretty good when he's getting what he wants out of a situation, and what he wants now is to make Patrick squirm—literally, when he's so slick and aching that all he can so is press his thighs together and shift in his seat. Meanwhile Jonny looks constantly smug, and hot, and he's wandering around wearing almost nothing, and he smells like alpha, and he's no longer fucking Patrick a couple of times a day. Sometimes he'll come up behind Patrick, though, and wrap an arm around him, and settle one of his big hands over Patrick's flat belly. The implication is not lost.

Patrick figures out his own ways to tease Jonny right back. One day in the gym, he puts on the Lonely Island just to see if Jonny can tell the difference between that and what Patrick normally plays while he's working out. Jonny neither flinches nor comments for the entire two hours they're down there knocking around on the bikes and arguing about who can bench more. (Jonny can lift more in absolute terms, but Patrick lifts more relative to his size; he's clearly winning.) The next day, though, Jonny puts on the Beach Boys. At first Patrick's sure it's a shuffle mix and _something_ else will come up eventually, but after six songs he gives up and snatches Jonny's phone away from him. They end up listening to 90s hits, because Patrick can tolerate Alanis Morissette a lot better than he can the Beach Boys.

The rest of his tactics are less subtle. He rubs up against Jonny in the shower and drapes himself over Jonny's lap and presses up against Jonny's big body in bed. Once he even goes to his knees and blows Jonny; Jonny returns the favor, but he doesn't finger Patrick even though Patrick's thighs are painted with his own slick. 

He even asks outright. "Jonny, _when_...?"

"Not yet, baby," Jonny says.

"Do you want me to beg?" He means to say it flirtatiously or petulantly, but he sounds desperate.

"It couldn't hurt," Jonny says. He's reading a book about U.S. Grant with the intense concentration of someone truly bored. Patrick, meanwhile, is sitting beside him on the bed. He's naked. He smells like aroused omega. Jonny should be all over him.

He shuts his eyes and says, "Please."

"Beg harder," Jonny says. 

_"Please."_

There's a rustle as Jonny flips pages. "Is that really the best you can do, sweetheart?"

Patrick's cock twitches against his belly. He hates how much he loves this. "Please—please put…"

"Try again," Jonny suggests.

"I want, I want your cock," Patrick forces out. _"Jonny—"_

"You want me to put a baby in you, Peeks? Knot your wet little hole?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. "Yes, please."

"No," Jonny says, and Patrick makes what's probably best classified as a noise of distress. He just, he _wants_ it—he wants all of it, Jonny's knot, and Jonny, and the baby—

"If you blow me, though, I'll let you grind on my leg until you come," Jonny adds, so Patrick curls over Jonny's cock to suck at the head and lick up and down the shaft; Jonny eventually puts his book down and comes in Patrick's mouth with a groan, but he picks it back up again when Patrick crawls up and straddles his thick thigh. It's maddening; Patrick has to choose between rubbing his cock against Jonny or grinding his ass down to try to put pressure on his hole. When he comes, it's almost less satisfying than the frustration he felt before. He lies down beside Jonny and presses his face into the side of Jonny's neck with Jonny's come still smeared over his chin and his own come sticky on his stomach, and Jonny wraps an arm around him and pets his hair and keeps reading.

The next day his frustration almost outweighs his anticipation. He's tired of the teasing, of Jonny's indifference, and he knows it's _feigned_ indifference, but that doesn't mean it's any less infuriating. He's not sure if it's possible to be so horny your body gives up and dies, but it feels like he's about to find out. When Jonny (shirtless but wearing pants) settles on the couch with a new book on Lincoln that looks slightly less likely to end up in the lake, Patrick shuts himself in the bedroom and starts digging through the closet.

When they'd started living together, Jonny had suggested remodeling the master suite so Patrick could have a closet of his own, but they'd decided against it; Jonny's closet was more than big enough for both of them, even with the way their clothes tended to accumulate, if only because it made more sense to buy a wardrobe for each house than to travel with enough to wear. Part of the back wall is dedicated to things Patrick only wears around the house (or, in some cases, underneath his clothes). Not all of it is lingerie, either; some of it's loungewear, and some of it is the kind of thing that no male hockey player would be caught dead wearing in public whether he was an omega or not.

He finally settles on an oversized chunky-knit sweater in a baby pink that falls to his thighs and hides his underwear, and then he checks how he looks in the mirror, swings like he's firing a wrister towards the back of the neck, and saunters off down the stairs. The effect he's going for gets ruined when he steps on one of the red Solo cups scattered over the house from yesterday's putting competition, but at least Jonny doesn't see him stumble. In their war of escalation, Patrick hasn't reached for the nuclear launch codes, but he's definitely broken out the missiles.

Jonny, meanwhile, is still reading on the couch when Patrick straddles his lap.

"Oof," Jonny says, and his arm comes up automatically around Patrick's waist to steady him, because no game is enough to override those reflexes. "Careful, Peeks, you almost made me lose my place."

"Jonny," Patrick says. "Jonny, come on."

Jonny rolls his eyes and props his book up against Patrick's ribcage.

"Seriously?" Patrick says. He plucks the front of his sweater and looks pointedly at Jonny. Jonny glances up, glances back down, and turns a page. Patrick's going to rip every damn page out of that book. The worst part is that Jonny smells right, like he wants to nail Patrick into the mattress, and Patrick can feel Jonny's cock swelling in his sweatpants, right up against the gusset of… of what Patrick's wearing. He's not unaffected, just assuming affectation. 

Patrick threads a finger between the back of the book and Jonny's palm (Jonny's mouth twitches) and tugs Jonny's hand to his thigh. The sweater's ridden up enough that he has plenty of bare skin to work with; he flattens Jonny's hand out and then guides it upwards a little, until Jonny's fingertips are just beneath the sweater's bunched hem. 

Patrick just—he just _wants._ When he stops and thinks about what he's really getting out of this, about how he and Jonny are finally starting their family after so many years of waiting, about how he's finally going to have his own baby instead of watching his teammates' babies wistfully from across the room, another day or two of denial doesn't seem so bad; but it also seems equally intolerable. He doesn't want to wait another day. He doesn't want to wait another _minute._ And on top of that, beyond the long-term longed-for consequences, Patrick's about to expire right there on Jonny's lap because he wants to be fucked so badly. If he sits for much longer, Jonny's sweatpants are going to be so soaked through with Patrick's slick that they'll cling to his cock; and Patrick can just imagine going to his knees and mouthing at his alpha's dick through the fabric, pleading with his mouth, being so good that Jonny finally decides to be nice to him and give him a baby.

It's a great fantasy. Unfortunately, reality is going in a different direction. Jonny's fingers don't climb any higher. All he does is adjust his huge fucking book so he can support it with one hand.

Patrick makes one last gamble. "Don't you want to find out what I'm wearing under here?" 

Jonny tips his head, digs his fingers into Patrick's thigh, and says, "No."

Patrick hears himself whine high in the back of his throat. It's an omega noise, the kind of sound he doesn't usually permit himself to make, and that's enough to make him withdraw. "Fine," he snaps, and then he climbs off Jonny's lap and tugs his sweater down. "Enjoy your reading." He takes off down the hall without giving Jonny time to respond, and what he does next is petty, it's _so_ petty, and he wouldn't say it if they hadn't played with it already; but once Jonny's almost out of earshot, Patrick mutters, "Maybe I'll find another alpha to fuck me."

He always thinks he can anticipate Jonny. He's always wrong. Patrick doesn't hear him coming, he doesn't have time to react: one minute he's walking into the kitchen and the next he's slammed up against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, never hard enough to hurt, but he's caged with one arm twisted behind him and Jonny's _on him_ and he's plastered along Patrick's back and Patrick couldn't move if he wanted to try, and that's when Jonny puts his mouth right up against Patrick's ear and says, "Do you really think I'd let another alpha near your pussy?"

Patrick heaves.

"Answer me."

"No," Patrick forces out.

"No," Jonny agrees. His breath is hot. "You just wanted to make me angry, didn't you?"

The side of Patrick's face is pressed up against the wall, but he manages to nod. His heart's racing. It isn't a fear reaction.

"Not smart," Jonny says, and he transfers his grip to the back of Patrick's neck and holds him like that, pins up against the wall with just that one point of contact, and it's so fucking hot that Patrick's hips roll forward to grind his cock against the wall.

"Do that again and I'll make you wait another week." Patrick's breath hitches and he makes himself go still. "Better," Jonny says, and with his other hand he rucks up the back of Patrick's sweater to expose his panties. 

If his sweater is baby pink, his panties are closer to watermelon. They're made of a heavy silk, with three wide bands of ruffles and bows tied at either hip, and they came from an atelier in New York that makes lingerie exclusively for omega men. Patrick has five pairs in different colors, but the pink is Jonny's favorite.

"You are desperate for it, aren't you?" he says, and he cups Patrick's ass before giving it a light swat. "I can see how wet you are, baby. Would you get this slick for another alpha?"

Patrick gasps. _"No,"_ he says. "Jonny, no, I would never—"

"No?" Jonny shoves his hand between Patrick's thighs, and Patrick widens them automatically. "When you're so eager to spread your legs?"

"Just, just for—Jonny—"

"Just for me?" Jonny says. When Patrick doesn't answer, he gives him a little shake by the scruff. 

"Yeah, just—just for you," Patrick promises. "Just you. Jonny, please—"

"Please what?" Jonny asks.

Patrick screws his eyes shut. "Please," he says, "fuck me, please."

The hold on his neck loosens, and then Jonny fists his hand in Patrick's curls and drags him backward by his hair until his spine arches and his heels almost come off the ground. "You want me to fuck you?" Jonny says.

Patrick swallows. "Yes."

"You want me to give you a baby?" Jonny demands.

Now Patrick shudders. "Yes," he says.

The grip on Patrick's hair vanishes, and Jonny leans in and sets his lips right up against Patrick's ear and tells Patrick, _"Run."_

Patrick bolts. The floor's treated hardwood, but he isn't wearing socks, so he builds up speed fast, cranks around a corner, feels his heart hammering between glee and the animal-brain urgency of having an alpha hunting him: and Jonny's not just any alpha. Patrick gets the charge without the fear, though, the jolt without the danger, because he hasn't been afraid of Jonny for a day in his life no matter how dangerous Jonny might be. It's the hottest fucking thing, and that adrenaline spike is what powers him as he takes the stairs two at a time, aware that Jonny's managing three.

He can hear Jonny now, because Jonny's going all-out, because Jonny wants to make himself heard. He knows how to read Jonny, though; Patrick's style of play isn't built on strength or speed as much as it is visual acuity and the ability to think three steps ahead. Jonny's easiest move would be to keep barreling forward when Patrick slows to turn a corner, but Patrick anticipates him and twists out of the way, ignores his snarl of frustration, and races straight down the hall to their bedroom. Thank god there aren't any more Solo cups in the way. Patrick's got this, he's almost there, he's going to sprawl out and flash his panties and ask if Jonny really thinks he's alpha enough for Patrick—

It doesn't work out that way. Jonny's hands clamp down on Patrick's hips, and he hauls Patrick back against his body just long enough to make it clear that he won before he takes them down to the mattress together. Patrick tries to crawl out from underneath him, but Jonny only lets him get to the middle of the bed before bearing down on him again. It takes every ounce of self-control Patrick possesses not to grind his cock against the bed or his ass against Jonny. 

Jonny gets a knee between Patrick's legs, and then another one, and as always Patrick parts his legs willingly. He stays still as Jonny puts his nose behind Patrick's ear and inhales, and then Jonny says, "Kiss me."

Patrick doesn't think he can manage it at first. He turns his head, and Jonny's still out of reach—but then Jonny relents and shifts his weight enough that Patrick can push himself up on one elbow and twist around to kiss his alpha. It's hard and hot and slow and tinged with roughness still, flavored with that edge of _Do you think I'd let another alpha near you_ that always works on Jonny even though they both know they're only playing. Patrick yields easily. They're burning off the pretense.

When Jonny pulls away, he shoves a hand between their bodies in a familiar motion: he's tugging down his pants far enough to free his big cock. He doesn't bother taking Patrick's panties off, just yanks the bow on one hip and shoves the crotch aside. "Can you take me without being stretched?" 

God, Patrick wants to say yes. He's managed it before, managed the first punch of Jonny's crown followed by as many deep breaths as he needs to relax enough to take another inch, but Jonny hasn't fucked him in days. 

"No," he admits, and Jonny kisses his earlobe at the same time he slides a finger into Patrick. 

"No," Jonny says, "you wouldn't be able to, would you?" He adds another finger; they're pressed together from shoulders to ankles, Jonny's weight offset just enough to give him space to put his hand between Patrick's legs. Patrick can't raise himself up enough to kneel, but he spreads his thighs a little more and presses down with the insides of his knees to tilt his hips up. "You're too tight here, baby," Jonny says. He crooks his fingers so his knuckles press near Patrick's prostate, and Patrick jolts.

"Maybe I should just fuck in anyway," he adds. "If you're that desperate for a baby, you should be able to handle it."

Patrick mumbles something into the mattress, too focused on not rocking his hips to speak clearly, but Jonny hears him anyway.

_"My_ baby?" he asks. "Is that right? You only want my baby?"

Patrick bites back a sob and nods. There's a little patch of drool on the sheets beneath his mouth, and that's when Jonny puts a third finger in and fans them out and Patrick twitches with his whole body. Jonny's still holding him down, though, pinning him down; he can't do more than shudder. 

"I know you do," Jonny says, not smug, just wholly, utterly confident. "Breathe," he adds, and then he worms his pinky finger into Patrick's snug little hole, too. "Can you take me now?"

"I can," Patrick says. "Jonny, I can take—"

"Good," Jonny says, and he drags his fingers out and shoves his cock inside.

Patrick lifts his head and keens. Jonny can't be more than halfway in, but normally there's a slow build, just the tip dipping in and out of Patrick's hole at first, and then the rest of Jonny's big cock opening him up so that by the time Jonny knots him, Patrick's soft and slick and ready for it. He scrabbles against the mattress, trying to cut the sensation and push into it at the same time, and Jonny huffs in laughter and drives in harder. _"Fuck,"_ Patrick gasps.

"I thought you said you could take me."

"I," Patrick says, "I can, I just—Jonny, it's really big—"

"Maybe your pussy's just too small," Jonny suggests. 

"No," Patrick says.

"No?" Jonny says. "It isn't too small?"

"I don't, I don't know—"

Jonny keeps rolling his hips, working his cock into Patrick, stretching Patrick, making Patrick his. "I wonder how you'll feel when I come inside you, baby," he says, and Patrick groans. "I'm not wearing a condom. You didn't think about that, sweetheart, did you? Because this is how it's supposed to be, isn't it."

"Yeah," Patrick says. "Yeah, Jonny, yes."

"Me bare in your pussy, coming inside you—I might never wear a condom again, baby." He pets down Patrick's side, finds his flank beneath the sweater and strokes the thin skin there. "We'll have to take our chances on hormonal birth control, won't we? Do you think that would work?"

Patrick's breath hitches. "No."

"No, baby, it wouldn't," Jonny says, and that's true, the doctor told them that's true, their bodies adapt to each other, and Jonny's not wearing a condom; he's bare inside Patrick. "I'd come in you whenever I wanted," he says, and Patrick wishes he were less slick, so he could feel— "You'd be pregnant all the time, Peeksy," Jonny says, and his voice is low and rough as he fucks into Patrick. "You'd be nursing one baby and pregnant already with another, you're so fucking fertile."

_"Please,"_ Patrick begs.

"Yeah? You like that idea? You want me to fill you up?" There's no space, but Jonny works a hand beneath Patrick anyway to rub at his cock through the silk front of his panties. "You want me to give you a baby? Fuck a baby into you? Answer me."

"Jonny," Patrick says, and he shoves himself back and then forward into Jonny's hand. He can feel the base of Jonny's cock starting to swell, and Jonny doesn't try to drag it out. He pushes into Patrick and grinds, rocks against him without pulling out an inch. 

_"Answer me,"_ Jonny demands, but Patrick forgot what he was saying. He fists his hands in the sheets and shoves his forehead into the mattress, overcome less with sensation than anticipation. He can imagine it, he's spent so much time imagining it—how his belly will soften and curve out after Jonny makes him pregnant, after Jonny makes him take it. He wants it more deeply than he's ever wanted anything in his life other than Jonny himself, and he may not remember what he was going to say but his body answers Jonny anyway: all in a rush Patrick comes. 

He doesn't lose track of his body. He's never been _more_ aware of his body, of how fat Jonny's knot is in his hole and how fat he'll be with their baby, of the slick drooling out of him around Jonny's huge knot, of the tight buds of his nipples, of the smear of come in his panties and the wet silk dragging against his dick. He's never been more aware of Jonny's body: how Patrick's sweater is trapped between his back and Jonny's front, how Jonny keeps trying and failing to shove his cock even deeper into the clutch of Patrick's pussy, how he snarls and groans and sets his teeth against the back of Patrick's neck without biting as he comes. 

When he decides to open his eyes, Jonny's nuzzling his jawline. Patrick blinks a couple of times and shudders. The knot's gone; he must've blacked out.

"Hey, sweetheart," Jonny says, and Patrick surges up and kisses him. Jonny lets himself be knocked over, and Patrick climbs on top of him and keeps kissing him, nips at his lips and licks back inside his mouth and kisses him again. Jonny lets him; but he also takes control, drawing Patrick from his frantic state into something gentler, until they're really just making out, trading long, lazy kisses while the slick and come from Patrick's hole smears against Jonny's stomach and the panties still tied on one side.

And then they're just breathing. "Hey," Jonny says again.

"You're incredible," Patrick says.

He grins. "Yeah? Good?"

"It was… really, really good," Patrick says. "I can't believe you held out that long."

"I can't, either," Jonny says, which probably isn't true—Jonny isn't necessarily cocky, but he has a pretty good grasp of his own abilities. When he'd said he could make Patrick wait another week, he'd meant it.

"Do you think it worked? Am I pregnant yet?"

Jonny pushes Patrick's sweater up and draws a line with his fingertip down the center of Patrick's stomach. "I don't know, baby. I think you're supposed to be on your back with your legs up in the air," he jokes.

"Or you could just fuck me again," Patrick suggests.

Jonny tugs at the remaining bow on Patrick's hip. "Seems more efficient," he says. "Think of how much money we'll save on condoms."

"We'll be the first couple who has a baby to save money." Patrick yawns and covers his mouth with his elbow automatically, and then something occurs to him. "Hey," he says, "I know what else can keep us busy while we're stuck here."

"Baby names?" Jonny says.

Patrick grins. "Baby names," he agrees.


End file.
